The Music of the Night
by WhiteAngelAriah92
Summary: It was a composers dream to compose the greatest work of music. Music that could bind your lovers heart and clear the soul of sins. Because not all music lived in the souls of the beautiful. HPOCSlash! NG HGR SSOC MMOC DCOC LVOC


'Tis a story idea I had in mind after listening to Les Miserables and Phantom of the Opera music, and after reading the fanfic; The Harpsichordist, which is an excellent fanfic that you can find on FictionAlley DI was inspired to write this...I don't know where I'll go with this...but enjoy!

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**Chapter 1: Overture**

It was unlike the sweltering months of July to be so misty and cool, but it was. The night seemed darker than usual, and the temperature required one to curl up beneath the welcoming cocoon of heat the blankets offered, which was a welcome release to the late humidity. There seemed to be no sound from outside, no rustle from leaves, no whistle from winds, the night was cold but still. The mists did not move.

In Surrey, Little Whinging, Privet Drive, 4, nothing seemed to be amiss, except for one of its windows to be alight with a yellow glow, the tell-tales signs of a light on. This was unusual, as it was 3 in the morning. None was there to witness this unusual behaviour, though, as none was awake, but it certainly wouldn't have gone amiss in this neighbourhood where things out of the ordinary were felt like a crime and therefore punished.

Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, was awake. It was not so much by choice, but forced by the recognition that as long as Voldemort was alive, there would be no rest for the weary. In advance, he couldn't sleep. And this was because of the damnable link between the two, connecting the hero and the villain in an unwanted way, for it was certainly not Harry's wish to have his mind connected with a psychopathic homicidal, it probably wasn't Lord Voldemort's either, but such was Fates very twisted humour to throw such evils to the wind.

Thus deciding, that if he closed his eyes only to greet the site of mangled corpses and cackling evil, it would be better to stay awake and suffer the dementia of insomnia instead. Harry's expression was listless and apathetic, he seemed to have no real fire holding him, and just the thought that if he drifted off, it would only be to a sight he did not wish to see.

He was curled up into a foetal position, arms wrapped tightly around knobbly knees. His body was thin, almost malnourished looking and his skin was very pale, almost white. Vivid green orbs peaked out from long, black eyelashes, emotionless and still, focused on nothing. His mane of jet-black hair was as unruly as ever. A book was propped up before him, but there was no hushed movement of lips, showing interest and a will to learn, no quiet rustling of pages turned. It was a book unread.

Hedwig, his snowy white owl, hooted softly to him large yellow eyes blinking inquisitively. He gave a small smile to his pet owl, the smile not reaching his eyes, which were still emotionless. He shifted slightly, his legs aching.

Sighing heavily, he lay down on his bed, head resting on his arms, his mind blank, yet slowly filing through thought after thought. In a way, he couldn't wait to return to Hogwarts, where the welcoming dormitory, ceilings emanating with magic and the forever enchanting hallways seemed far more appealing than the boring street he lived on. Yet he couldn't shake the fear that the knowledge of the return of Lord Voldemort had wrought. He had been following the _Prophet _and all the paper seemed content to do was make out he and Dumbledore as maddened fools out to cause terror and chaos. He also couldn't shake the mournful guilt that the death of Cedric Diggory and brought about. He didn't continue with that thought though.

He hadn't received any letters or presents from his friends…that made him feel mildly angry, but he couldn't dredge up the anger to make him feel rightfully indignant. He had turned 15, without any way to mark the occasion; except for the extra chores and especially vicious glares he had retrieved from his last remaining family. It was no foreign feeling for him to feel their hatred and rejection of him. He blinked and wondered. Such was the price of prejudice and ignorance. He blinked again, since when had he thought so lucidly?

He turned his gaze to his alarm clock, and was surprised to find it was nearly 6 am, he had been mulling over his thoughts for that long? All in all, he really should be feeling exceptionally angry and moody about his rather volatile position in life as general. Not only did he have a maddened murdered out for his hide, his godfather was out on the run, he had received no communication from the wizarding world, said wizarding world also thought he was an attention-seeking brat and he had witnessed the first death of the second war. Yet, he felt neither anger nor misery. He just felt blank apathy.

8am. The first eventful occasion of the day. Waking up.

"Up boy! Up!" Yelled the screeching voice of his Aunt. Harry never realised how much those commands sounded like that of a dogs. Thinking of dogs made him think of Aunt Marge. The thought itself was unpleasant enough to lift him from his position on the bed he had taken for 3 hours and drape too large clothes over his skinny body. He then proceeded to wash himself and carry out the chores for the day, first of consisted of Uncle Vernon giving him a look of pure disgust, nearly, but not quite, burning himself over the bacon and then cleaning the worktops.

What was not expected, and shaking him from his monotone duties, was the doorbell ringing. Aunt Petunia looked up from the lunch she had been preparing, narrowing her eyes dangerously. Vernon was out to work and Dudley was out with his friends for some tea.

"Boy!" She called unpleasantly. "Get the door!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia…" he muttered, laying down the cleaner and cloth he had been previously working with to clean off a deep stain on the furniture, left there, courtesy of his cousin, Dudley.

He proceeded to the door. The ringing of the doorbell grew more impatient, until he finally reached it, his legs tired, the result of no food and lack of sleep. It was not the walk to the door that would've tired him out, but the fact that he had not received any fruitful sleep for a week and had been punished no food for 3 days.

He opened the door ready with a greeting on his tongue, but the words died in his throat. Before him stood Remus Lupin, a woman with vivid pink hair and an extremely tall man he did not know. He gaped, his face mirroring that of a surprised fish, which was a feat all by itself, as it takes saddened deliberation and hard effort to make a fish surprised.

"Pro-Professor!" He exclaimed. The first feeling arrived to him in over 2 weeks. Relieve and happiness. His face broke out into his first true smile in ages. He beamed with delight. He did not know where this unusual and powerful feeling came from. Just that he was very happy to see Professor Lupin there.

Remus Lupin, a werewolf and former DADA teacher, smiled back at Harry, glad to see his best friend's son after so long, though his eyes showed concern at Harry's thin and pale look, and prominent purple bags decorating his eyes.

"What are you doing here professor?" Harry continued, confusion colouring his enquiring voice.

"Hello Harry, I've come to pick you up," Remus smiled gently at Harry's look of sudden hope and relief. "I'll just have to tell your aunt. Why don't you get your things? Tonks," Remus gestured towards the woman with the bright bubble-gum pink hair "and Shadow" he gestured towards the other man, "can help you." With that, Remus left the room in search of Aunt Petunia, while Harry climbed the stairs, followed by Tonks and Shadow.

He proceeded to open the door to his bare and blank room, the only things that indicated the occupation of life in the room being the clothes and books that had been left carelessly on the floor. He felt uncomfortable in the presence of people he didn't know and went to pick up his things.

Tonks laughed and with a friendly smile went to help Harry. "I think I know a spell that could make this faster," with that she lifted her wand and cast a spell. There was a brief swish and Harry's clothes and books all propelled into his trunk, though not in orderly fashion, were at least packed. Tonks blushed.

"My mother was always much better at this cleaning thing, she could even get the socks to fold themselves and everything…" she gave an apologetic smile to Harry, who smiled in return.

"Thanks," Harry gave her. Shadow merely scowled and pushed past them to pick up Harry's trunk with ease, while said boy and Tonks goggled at his show of physical strength.

"Come on." Shadow snapped, his eyes showing he was in no mood to dawdle around. Harry and Tonks looked at each other and shrugged, following the irritable Shadow down the stairs, regrouping with Remus. They entered the back garden shed, and sure no one had noticed them, apparated without a sound, having pulled up silencing barriers around the shed.

And so ended Harry's summer at the Dursleys.

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Somehow...to me, the conversation sounded strange...blah...been reading too much Thomas Hardy ;

Anyway! Tell me what you think! Reveiw and you make the little plot bunnies happy! Really! You do! So REVEIW:not like I'm forcing you or anything: . 


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